Today I was going through the little book I got from rehab. You know, the one you leave out and people sign it with a nice note and contact info, for once you’re at home. It reminded me of how close I was with some of these people. How I bared my soul to them, and they to me. I thought of the crying we did, and also the laughter. I thought about standing outside in the little gazebo, trying to stay dry in the rain, having a smoke. Some of the best conversations happened there. We called it “smoker’s group”. I thought about the meals, eating with friends and discussing just about anything. I thought about our daily walks, trying to make as many loops around the path as we could. It quickly became competitive and so much fun. Yes, we had lectures, groups and meetings, but it’s the extra stuff that comes to mind first.

The feeling changed from happy recall, to a longing to be as close and supported as I was in treatment. I don’t think of myself as a lonely person, but remembering being there with these people gave me such an intense feeling of being alone that it hurt. This was quickly followed by the sense that I fucked everything up and deserved to be alone. Next, I was agitated and restless, sleeping for my night shift was out of the question, and I’m now shaky and wide awake.

So many things drudged up by one little book.

I have to ask myself why this happened. Clearly it triggered thoughts and emotions that I have already. I can’t blame the book. But why so intense? Rehab was two and a half years ago! I don’t have an answer. This little book is not the only culprit though. I feel that I am very often one stimulus away from a mind shift. Not that I am bursting in to tears, or screaming and yelling at the drop of a hat. The mind changes, it’s like someone changed the channel. It feels beyond my control. My response is usually to remove myself, either physically or mentally.

This is a reflection about looking at a book. A book full of names and numbers for people who once meant everything to me. It is also a reflection and a warning of how unpredictable the psyche can be. My reaction, instead of withdrawing physically or mentally, used to be to have a drink. I was never a “fuck it, I’m getting drunk” person, but the end result was the same. I got drunk. Our triggers are always there. They were there in addiction and they are there in sobriety. We may not see the trigger in advance, but for our safety, we have to recognize when we have been triggered.

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” C.G. Jung